


Above Rubies

by Lomonaaeren



Series: Advent Fics 2016 [13]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Auror Partners, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-08 17:26:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8854243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomonaaeren/pseuds/Lomonaaeren
Summary: There’s a Dark wizard brewing a powerful love potion that makes couples out of its victims, who he then collects. Few Auror pairs can pretend to be a couple and go undercover to stop him, since most of them are married to someone else. Which is the main reason that Harry is proposing to Draco on one knee with an enormous diamond ring in the middle of the Auror Department.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> One of my Advent fics, in response to a request by feathered_ink: _I’d love it if Harry and Draco could pretend to be in a romantic relationship (or even married), whether it's for a case (as Auror partners) or for any other reason, and of course they end up together in the end. I like buckets of UST and funny misunderstandings (although it'd be nice if the boys weren't too thick-headed about it). The setting is up to you_. The title comes from Proverbs 31:10. This is a two-shot, with the second part to be posted tomorrow.

 

“Draco, will you marry me?”

Draco’s eyes glinted down at him. Harry bit his lip to keep from snorting. It would ruin everything if they laughed now.

Which didn’t keep him from wanting to do it.

And he had to refocus his thoughts, or they would get nowhere. He knelt at Draco’s feet, on one knee, and gave him the most melting glance he could. The diamond on the ring was so huge that it was starting to hurt Harry’s hand, and so bright that it flashed back leaping light and Harry had to keep blinking.

Aurors turned and gaped. Harry ignored them, and their murmurs, and the sound of rapidly clinking Galleons changing hands. If they were going to prepare a cover capable of withstanding the Dark Lover’s gaze, they couldn’t let their colleagues in on the secret of their sudden romance, either.

“I am a covetous man,” said Draco softly, which immediately made most of the other noises fall into a hush.

Harry hid a groan. This wasn’t the script they’d prepared! What was Draco doing?

But two could play at this game, and were going to have to, from the warning gaze Draco was giving him. Harry tilted his head a little. “So am I. That’s why I’m proposing to you with a diamond the way you always said you wanted.”

_Don’t be difficult, Malfoy!_

Draco gave him a faint smile that broadened into a more gracious one as he examined the diamond. Probably because it was real and huge and flawless, Harry grumbled in his head. He’d had to buy the diamond on his own, but he knew the Auror Department would compensate him. Kingsley had said so. And he’d chosen a diamond like this so everyone else would assume Draco could _really_ agree to marry him. He wouldn’t win Draco with a pathetic little ring and a one-carat diamond.

 _Draco_ had said that.

Harry kept his gaze fixed on Draco, and tried to make it pleading. Draco finally sighed as if he was granting an enormous favor and held out his hand, fingers extended.

Harry refrained from rolling his eyes as he slid the ring onto Draco’s finger. But really, he was the one making this harder than it had to be. The potion the Dark Lover brewed was supposed to make couples frantic for each other. If Draco held back and hesitated enough, then he might start suspecting they weren’t under his spell.

Perhaps Draco saw something of that in Harry’s eyes. Or perhaps he simply appreciated the diamond, because he reached down, grasped Harry’s wrists, and tugged him to his feet, then kissed him with crushing desperation.

Harry gasped into the kiss. His hands slipped down Draco’s shoulders on instinct, aiming for his arse. It was what he would have done with someone who was _really_ his lover—

Someone who didn’t have to be shy about it, someone who wasn’t just pretending—

 _But Draco’s not going to let me down,_ Harry thought, as he lifted his mouth carefully from the kiss, and managed to stop his hands on the small of Draco’s back. _We’re not going to be awkward about this, because that’s just not him._

“Thank you,” he whispered. “Is that yes?”

From somewhere that Harry had certainly never known about, Draco fetched a blush, and ducked his head until his eyelashes looked as if they were touching his cheeks. “If you think you can handle me,” he whispered.

Most of the Aurors standing and staring around them sighed, which only proved they couldn’t hear the real words and thought it was probably some romantic declaration. Harry licked his lips and reminded himself of the kiss.

“I can.”

“Then yes.” Draco’s eyes glittered as he raised his lashes again and let Harry look full-on into their sparking grey. “I do.”

That _did_ make cheers break out, although Harry heard more than one person asking in confusion what Draco could possibly have said a few minutes ago. He lifted Draco’s hand in return and kissed his finger, then the ring. That made Draco’s eyes widen a satisfying amount.

“I love you as much as you love me,” Harry said. “ _Darling_.”

They’d agreed on endearments, much as they had on the way Harry had to propose and the size of the diamond. There was no reason for Draco to look startled, then offended, and stand stiffly next to Harry for a few minutes of talking before he stalked back to his desk. Harry shrugged in the face of the gapes.

“He knows that we have to be devoted to our work in the next few days, if we want any time off to celebrate our engagement,” he said.

He’d got much better at lying since Hogwarts. Although a few people still gave them considering glances, most of the Aurors accepted that explanation and drifted back to their own work. And Harry went to tidy up his files and sign the reports he needed to sign, working steadily. They _were_ going to disappear for a few days, after all.

Just not for the reason other people thought they were.

*

Draco ran his thumb over the smooth diamond, wishing, again, that all his staring earlier had been because of it. It was easy to imagine coveting a diamond like this, beautiful and rare. Harry had outdone all his expectations.

Unfortunately, what Draco coveted most, and knew he would never get, was the sight of Harry kneeling before him, his head a little bowed, his hand reaching up to offer Draco the ring while his voice spoke words of love and devotion.

_That’s what you can’t have. That’s what you decided against having when you first learned Harry liked both men and women._

Draco had decided, quickly, that he wanted it too much, more than Harry did. That was unacceptable. He wouldn’t become the person who chased Harry’s love the way he had once chased his friendship. And he hadn’t suffered during the last few years. They’d worked together well as Auror partners. Draco didn’t wank to Harry’s image every night and pine after him hopelessly during the day, the way pathetic unrequited lovers did.

But hearing Harry call him “darling” earlier had touched on fantasies Draco hadn’t known he cradled against his chest. He couldn’t stand someone making fun of them. Not Harry, not the other Aurors who had patted their shoulders and joked with them.

He glanced under his eyelids over at Harry, who was sitting at his desk as he talked with Weasley. Weasley was one of the few who knew they were doing this to attract the Dark Lover’s attention, and so he didn’t stare at Draco with a gaping mouth the way most people in the Department had since this afternoon. Instead, he was leaning over and talking to Harry intently, his hands pale-knuckled on the side of Harry’s desk.

Harry only looked at him with a taunting little smile.

Draco breathed in and out, and did his best to ignore the way his stomach writhed. That was _his_ smile, the way Harry usually looked at him right before they did something brilliant and rule-breaking and worthy of capturing large numbers of criminals.

_Maybe I was wrong to think of it as just mine alone, though. He probably smiles like that at his friends all the time—_

Draco glanced off to the side and busied himself with rearranging paperwork. He knew Harry could have friends, of course. It would be stupid to think he couldn’t. It was just that Draco hated being _wrong_.

“Draco, do you want to come with us? Ron and I are going out.” Harry’s voice lowered as he stepped up to the desk. “Or we can go out later alone, if you want.”

Draco tightened his shoulders. He could guess what his father would say, if he was still alive to see this. _Do not encourage any delusions you should not have by saying yes._

On the other hand, they had to spend some time together if this deception was going to work. Draco let himself smile as he stroked the diamond on the ring with his thumb again. “You’re going to the Leaky Cauldron, right?”

“Right.” Behind Harry, Weasley looked nervous.

“Not my style of place, dear,” said Draco, and lowered his voice, too. At least that made Harry shift. _Very good._ “Be home by six. I’ll tell you where I want to go then.” He turned away with a grand dismissive wave and went back to filing paperwork.

Harry hesitated, but he could hardly make a scene about this now after the one he had made earlier. He just said, “Right,” with the slightest shade of uncertainty in his voice, and then turned and left the Auror Department.

Draco sighed and began counting down the minutes until he received an owl from Pansy. He hadn’t entrusted her with this secret because of the difficulty she had _keeping_ it secret. But he could anticipate a Howler for not telling her about his engagement the minute it happened.

 _Ah, there it is now._ Draco raised a spell around his desk that would at least confine the words and the explosion to himself, and waited.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing,” said Pansy’s voice, so calm that Draco could have deceived himself into thinking she wasn’t angry. Except that he knew her, he had known her for years, and Pansy always got angry over things like this. “I would blame Potter, but I know you lost your common sense a long time ago.”

Draco rolled his eyes. They had always disagreed over his becoming an Auror. Nice to know she hadn’t forgotten and would jab him with that argument whenever she could.

“But I think you’re playing with fire that’s going to eat the skin off your bones, Draco, not just burn you. And I don’t know how long I’ll feel like sitting at home with a bottle of Firewhisky waiting to hear your woes. If you come back to yourself and want to talk to me within two hours’ time, fine. Otherwise…”

And the Howler ripped itself to pieces on that ominous note.

Draco closed his eyes and let himself just breathe for a few seconds, reassuring himself that Pansy hadn’t let anyone else know what was going on. That wasn’t her way. She could be as angry at Draco as she liked, but _she_ was the one who got to be angry, not random people who still blamed Draco for being a Death Eater.

_That shows how fragile I’ve become more than anyone else, my conviction that she would gossip about it._

Wearily, Draco stood and started gathering his reports. If Harry could go out to the Leaky Cauldron, Draco could nip off for lunch with Pansy, and for the sake of keeping a whole skin and an untroubled sleep.

*

“I can’t believe you agreed to do this.”

Draco shrugged and sipped at his wine. Perfectly flavored, as always, with the hint of strawberries that only Pansy’s elves knew how to add. Draco had asked them how they did it, but they bowed and scraped and dithered, and he knew Pansy had forbidden them to tell him.

“The Aurors need a pair who can pretend to be affected by this potion the Dark Lover brews, who aren’t married, who don’t have commitments elsewhere. Harry and I are almost the only ones in the whole Department who fit that, and the only senior pair.”

“ _Harry_.”

Draco looked away.

Pansy sighed and put a hand over his. “I don’t want to see you get hurt,” she said. The streaks of artificial, glowing silver that she’d added to her hair sparkled in the sunlight through the window. Draco watched them instead of her face. “That’s the only reason I’m objecting to this. Not because I think you can’t handle it or you’ll get hurt physically.”

“I never thought you were objecting to it for that reason.”

“But you won’t give it up?”

Draco held up the diamond engagement ring in a silent answer.

Pansy gave a sigh as heavy as a drowning victim’s and waved her hand. Another bottle of wine immediately appeared on the end of the table, the house-elf who brought it popping in and out so fast Draco missed them entirely. “Fine. Then let me drink to the success of your mission and come up with the words I’ll hit Potter with if he breaks your heart.”

“Thank you for saying words and not curses.”

“Some words hurt worse than mere curses.”

Draco opened his eyes, saw the dangerous gleam in Pansy’s, and prudently held his tongue.

*

“I can’t believe that you and _Malfoy_ have to do this.”

Harry looked at the ceiling as he helped Ron through the Floo into the house he shared with Hermione. It was better than looking at Ron’s red, earnest face. At least he know Ron would only object like this, and speak the truth about the mission, when he was drunk, and they’d headed out of the Leaky Cauldron before Ron got too loud.

Even with Harry’s help, they half-fell onto the rug in front of the fireplace. Hermione clucked as she came over to help them stand.

Ron rolled onto his back and gazed up at her with adoration that made Harry’s heart ache. It was the kind he would have liked to give—someone. “Hermione, Harry and Malfoy shouldn’t be doing this,” Ron explained gravely.

“But the Minister asked them to, and they agreed,” Hermione pointed out, as if that was the end of it. _It probably would be for her, knowing her and authority figures,_ Harry agreed silently. "They can do it. You don’t have to worry about them.”

“Wouldn’t worry about Harry if it wasn’t for _Malfoy_.” Ron struggled to his feet. Hermione turned him and got him seated on the couch. “Harry could lose his head around him.”

“Draco would never betray—”

“Didn’t mean—didn’t mean _that_. Didn’t mean that. Only meant that you stare at him too much and spend too much time with him and dream about him too much. You could lose your head around him.”

Hermione gave Harry a concerned look. “I’m sure Harry knows where the lines of professional conduct are.”

 _I do_. That was the problem, really. Harry knew he could dream and look and stare, but he also knew, because Hermione had sat him down and explained it to him, that a lot of that longing came from spending so much time with Draco in situations filled with adrenaline. If he and Draco weren’t Auror partners, Harry might be on friendly terms with him, but he wouldn’t want him _that_ way.

They were partners, though. They couldn’t afford to have an affair go sour and ruin their working relationship. Ultimately, although Harry might want Draco and dream of more, that was more precious to him, having Draco watch his back in battle and leap right in beside him as the curses flew.

“But this case might blur the lines,” Ron said, with more wisdom than Harry would have expected from him this late. “Might make him think about other things. He might have to _do_ other things." He gave Harry a look of bleary sympathy. “Might make him wonder…”

Hermione sighed. “I know, Ron.” Her hand moved to stroke Ron’s hair back in a gesture so habitual that it made Harry’s heart ache more than their mad snogging when they were newlyweds had. “I know that it might happen.” She gave Harry a look that said it shouldn’t.

Harry nodded. Hermione would have a much easier time controlling her hormones if she was in a situation like this, he knew that. But he could be rational.

_If I haven’t grabbed Draco after a battle so far and introduced his throat to my tongue, I can be rational now._

After he Flooed home, Harry looked at the paperwork for buying the diamond, which he would have to turn in to the appropriate department for compensation after the case was over. The price could sober him, he thought. The price could remind him of another thing he would have to give up even if he was _dating_ Draco, which was financial security.

_I could never spoil him the way he would want to be spoiled._

It was a shame his dreams didn’t agree.

*

Harry was at the Manor at six-thirty, looking calm and dapper in a set of those robes that weren’t exactly dress robes but certainly weren’t an Auror uniform. Somewhere between dark green and black, they flattered his body in ways that made it hard for Draco to look at him. Draco swallowed and jerked his eyes back to Harry’s face, holding out his arm.

Harry evidently mistook the gesture for something else. “These are for you,” he said, and let an enormous bunch of snowy flowers settle into Draco’s hand.

Draco stared at them. They were lilies, he knew that, but they had been enchanted to have streaks of yellow down their mouths, and their petals were shaped into—Draco stared closer. Yes, miniature dragons, stylized ones with curved bodies and wings and open mouths.

“How did you…”

“The charms to change color were simple enough.” Harry shrugged, keeping his eyes on the ground. “I get Madeline in Magical Games and Sports to help me with the dragon shapes.” He raised his eyes back. “Do you like them?”

“How did you know lilies were my favorite flower?”

“I didn’t. I got them for you because they’re _my_ favorite flower.”

Their gazes clung for a long moment, and then Draco cleared his throat and looked away. “Thank you. They’re lovely.” With shaking hands, he placed the lilies in a clear green vase, made of old jade, that he’d found too lovely to get rid of but also not useful. Then he handed the flowers to a house-elf with instructions to put them in water.

“Lovely,” Harry echoed. Draco wasn’t sure what he meant. This time, Harry was the one who put out his arm. “Shall we go?”

Draco let Harry escort him down the gravel path and to the gates, where he murmured into Harry’s ear, “I think I want to go to Pan’s.”

For a moment, Harry’s fingers jumped in surprise. Then he said, “Even though you got assaulted the last time we were there?”

“But I was drunk and making horrible accusations then,” Draco said. “I want to make a memory to replace this. Please? The food’s delicious, and I promise I won’t get drunk.” He traced his fingers slowly along the bone of Harry’s arm, telling himself that he could, that it was behavior considered decent for any engaged couple.

“I—fine,” Harry said. “Ron got really drunk at the Leaky Cauldron, anyway, _despite_ it being lunch. I don’t even plan to order wine at Pan’s.” He clasped his hand steadily on Draco’s and stared into his eyes a moment.

Knowing he shouldn’t, Draco still looked back without much of a mask. Harry turned his head to the side before they Apparated.

*

Pan’s was a nice restaurant, Harry had to admit. Walking through the oaken front door was like walking into the middle of a deep, green-lit forest. The walls that loomed around them were carved to look like trees, and the illumination that filtered through the arching branch-rafters was the sort of sunlight that you would get in the middle of that forest.

And there was music playing, low pipes that wound through every other sound—the conversation, the noises of breezes and creaking of wood, the flapping of leaves—without overwhelming them. Now and then a goat that might be real or pure illusion would trot into view, and stare at them, and bolt out of sight.

But it was still unnerving to remember that the last time he and Draco had been here, they had been arguing about a case, and Draco’s voice had risen too high as he accused Harry of carelessness and suicidal behavior, and someone had recognized him, and decided to “punish the Death Eater.” Even worse, Harry had to talk them out of the situation, and he knew it was only because of his name that Draco hadn’t been banned from the restaurant permanently.

It hadn’t been Draco’s fault. That would never matter to some people.

Harry escorted Draco on his arm to the largest nearby table, which was carved to look like a stump rising out of the moss at its feet. The chairs were stone, but provided with a Cushioning Charm. Draco settled across from him, looking strangely content. Harry cocked his head at him.

“A Sickle for your thoughts.”

“You think they’re worth that much?” Draco leaned down to read the menu carved into the top of the table.

“Yes.”

Harry waited patiently while Draco dithered through the food. He already knew what he was going to order. He couldn’t get roast mutton done anywhere else the way Pan’s did it, and ever since he had discovered that, he’d become a lot more accustomed to eating mutton.

“Fine,” Draco said, and looked up, and waved his hand with a flourish. A deer bounded into view, a tall stag with velvet-sheathed antlers and liquid brown eyes that always made Harry ache a little. “I want the duck baked with the stew of mushrooms, and the Elvendraught wine.” He glanced at Harry, and the stag turned its head at the same time.

“The roast mutton,” Harry said, “with water.” The deer bowed his head to both of them, and bounded off through the “trees.”

“I think,” Draco said, turning back to Harry, “that I should never have allowed anyone to drive me away from this restaurant in the first place.”

“Well, that wasn’t your fault,” Harry said. “I don’t blame you for being afraid after what that bastard said about you.”

Draco shook his head. His face was set in calm, stubborn lines, and Harry waited, because that was the only way to get Draco to talk when he was in this mood. Draco’s fingers strayed over the wood of the table and the stone of his seat and the cloth of his own robes before he finally spoke.

“I wasn’t afraid. I was humiliated. I thought everyone else in Pan’s thought the same thing but was too polite to say it.

“And I wanted to run away from my past.” Draco looked up abruptly, his eyes harder to meet than the illusion stag’s had been. “I never told you, did I, that that was one reason I became an Auror?”

“You never told me it was a reason.”

“A Death Eater can’t be an Auror. A Death Eater can’t be _Harry Potter’s_ partner.” Draco clenched his hands in front of him. “And I thought, well, if I could make myself into those things, then no one could taunt me with my past. But it didn’t work. It never will for some people. All they’ll ever see is my left arm.”

“Wait,” Harry interrupted, reeling a little, and needing to know. “Are you saying that you only wanted to be my Auror partner because you wanted people to stop referring to you as a Death Eater?”

Draco snorted and gestured like someone throwing salt over his shoulder. “Of course not. I didn’t do anything that would _make_ them assign you as my partner except be good. But once I had the chance, I was bloody well going to take it.”

“Oh.”

“You must know there are more reasons for me being your partner than that, Potter.”

Draco hadn’t called him by his last name in years, except when they were undercover. Harry winced and didn’t look up from the stump. “I know.”

Draco sighed and caught his wrist. Harry looked up because it was hard not to, with his wrist being tugged on so hard like that.

“I’m always double,” Draco murmured. “In my motivation, I mean. The good motives that you probably expect most people to have, and then the motivations that I can’t help seeing. I can’t stop being selfish because you’d like me to.”

Before Harry could reply, his grip crushed down on Harry’s fingers, and he lifted them and brought the knuckles to his lips. “But I swear to you,” Draco murmured, his breath tickling across Harry’s skin, “that part of my selfishness is wanting you to survive and be happy. I would never do anything to hurt you if I could help it.”

Harry breathed out. He did know that, and he did actually appreciate the reminder. He flexed his fingers a little in Draco’s hold, and it loosened, but didn’t let go. Draco leaned forwards with his eyes glittering wildly.

“Harry? You know that?”

“I know.”

Draco let him go and ran his thumb over the diamond in his engagement ring, smiling a little. “And I do appreciate fine things, and that you were willing to buy something this big and expensive for me.”

Harry cleared his throat. The conversation had shifted, and he wasn’t entirely sure that he was following it down all its paths. “That—wasn’t something _I_ only bought from a desire to please you, either.”

“I know.”

Draco’s smile was as heavy as an arm across his shoulders, and Harry frowned at him. _He_ had meant that his buying the diamond was a step in their undercover game. But Draco’s words seemed to turn it into something else.

But the stag bounded back then, two covered dishes floating behind it and steaming with wonderful smells, and Harry didn’t have to contend with Draco in a game of words. He ate his mutton, and Draco ate his duck and drank his wine, and the conversation flowed into safer channels.

The _conversation,_ anyway. Harry wasn’t sure that Draco’s smile and eyes ever went back to being exactly normal.

*

Draco swayed a little as he got up from his seat, and felt Harry immediately grab his arm, and then his shoulder and waist. “Lightweight,” Harry muttered. Draco snorted, but he couldn’t disagree. Perhaps he shouldn’t have had the wine.

He couldn’t blame his honesty on it, though. That had happened before the stag brought their food and before he took a single drink.

He let his gaze linger on Harry as he dropped the Galleons on the table to pay for their meal; they took turns paying, and it was Harry’s. Draco had said that he always had a double motivation, and if Harry had been a little surprised by him admitting it, at least he hadn’t complained about it.

And right now, his motivation was that playing things up would look good for the gossip they needed to spread about supposedly being under the Dark Lover’s potion, _and_ it would give him something he’d wanted for years.

He held out his hand, and Harry automatically took it, guiding him towards the door of Pan’s. Draco let his head loll to the side, and heard the way Harry clucked his tongue as he turned to stare down at Draco, shaking his head.

“Are you drunk?” Harry asked out of the side of his mouth.

 _No, I’m desperate._ But Draco didn’t think that would earn him any points, with either himself or Harry or Pansy or anyone who mattered and might be observing them, so he only smiled back and said, “No. But I would like a kiss.”

Harry didn’t stop walking, but it was a near thing. Draco thought only training kept him moving. “Here?”

“Would it make any difference if we were in private?”

“I don’t think you would be asking for it if we were in private.”

“You might be surprised,” Draco murmured back, raising his head further. Harry’s lips were only a millimeter or so above his as they whispered to each other. And Draco’s body was aching. He wanted to shift back and press against Harry, force him to acknowledge what was happening here, and that he wanted it as badly as Draco did. “Come on, Harry. You wouldn’t hold back and taunt me, would you? It would be cruel.”

Harry hesitated only once more before he brought his mouth down.

It was slick and wet, sweet with the aftertaste of Pan’s sauces, dark as some of the corners of the illusory wood. Draco clutched at Harry’s shoulder, as much to hold himself on his feet as to paint a convincing picture. Harry kissed firmly, without any—

Without any hesitation. Even though Draco knew he must be feeling it. He must be thinking of—

Of things that Draco had no wish to think of, himself. He dug his fingernails into the back of Harry’s neck, and was pleased to hear Harry gasp a little from the sting. The kiss grew firmer. Draco chuckled into Harry’s lips without meaning to.

It seemed Harry liked a little pain with someone kissing him.

Harry abruptly lifted his head and drew Draco out of Pan’s. Draco didn’t mind. He’d got what he wanted, and his head was spinning more with that than with the wine. And even this running away would fit with their cover. Their audience would just think that Harry wanted to continue the affair somewhere with more privacy.

Harry force-marched Draco down Diagon Alley to the Apparition point, and took them back to his own flat. Draco couldn’t help looking around with a new sense of things when they landed, even though he’d been there dozens of times before and the dusty red furniture was the same as ever.

Now he could think of the corners that Harry might slam him into, the couches he might get laid out on, and he shivered with delight as he broke away and strode towards the kitchen.

“What was that all about?”

“Promoting our game.” Draco didn’t look over his shoulder as he took down a glass and filled it with conjured water. He pushed the glass against his cheek. He felt so flushed that he knew he needed that more than it.

“Then you weren’t drunk.”

“Drunk on you,” Draco said, and swallowed most of the water with an easy jerk of his head.

“ _Don’t._ ”

Draco jumped. Harry was closer than he’d thought, and his hand came past Draco’s head to take the glass away. He was glaring at the back of his neck, and Draco twisted a little under his regard, but still didn’t turn around.

“I don’t know—if you think this is funny or what, but—”

“You don’t kiss in a funny way,” said Draco, and his voice had gone lower than he’d ever let it get with Harry before. He pivoted around and locked his eyes on Harry, and he let them _burn_. Harry was the one who shut up and stared at him. “I wanted that.”

“Because you’re drunk.”

“No. Because I have a bloody engagement ring on my finger and I wanted to see what you kiss like.”

Harry closed his eyes. He didn’t even know what to feel, Draco surmised, watching the emotions chase themselves across Harry’s face like clouds racing through the sky. If he ought to feel guilty for supposedly taking advantage of Draco, or outraged that Draco was taking advantage of _him_ , or appalled that their undercover work was going like this, or…

He settled on being tired.

Harry stopped caging Draco against the cabinets and wandered back outside into the drawing room, where they’d landed. Draco took a moment to reclaim the glass Harry had set on the counter, and followed him. He sat right across from him, and stared until Harry had no choice but to look back.

“Why do you want this?” Harry asked. Simple. Desperate.

_Hard to answer._

But Draco had started this portion of the game, and he was the one who had to answer. “Because I’ve been thinking about you for a while. The way you move. The way you fight. That there’s no one I’d rather trust at my back.” And that was true. Even Pansy, though she had many fine qualities Draco valued in his friend, would probably be unable to resist striking at his back.

_If only to teach me better than to trust someone like that._

“But I can’t give you what you want in the end.”

Draco frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t like having a high-profile life the way you want. I don’t have enough money to buy you things like that all the time.” Harry nodded to the diamond on Draco’s finger, and looked away when Draco tilted it so it flashed and sparkled. “You like going to Ministry galas. I don’t. You want a partner, fine, but I’m a good _Auror_ partner. Nothing more than that.”

“You think that matters more than the fact that you know when I need to go somewhere and be cheered up? Next to the way you start petty little fights that don’t matter with me, and offer yourself as a target just so I can work off steam? The way you somehow managed to put Weasley’s good qualities on display until I admitted that he’s not such a bad bloke?”

Harry blinked slowly enough that Draco thought he would have had time to count each eyelash. “I know publicity and being pampered matter to you. You told me often enough.”

Draco shrugged. “Surely you’ve noticed I haven’t dated anyone in the past year or so.”

“You said no one could measure up to your standards.”

“That’s because I found a new standard.” Draco wished Harry had a glass in hand, but as it was, he settled for leaning forwards and clinking his water glass against the battered pocket watch Harry never took off. A present from Mrs. Weasley, Draco knew. It had belonged to one of her brothers, and she’d given it to Harry for his seventeenth birthday. _I know so much about him._ “You.”

Harry let out a ragged breath. “But what happens if we have a bad rupture and then we can’t trust each other to protect our backs in battle anymore?”

Draco shook his head. “I think we could both be mature enough to get past that.”

“When we have _this_ between us?” Draco thought Harry would only wave a hand up and down, but instead, he reached out and pressed the back of his hand against Draco’s cheek.

Draco gasped and felt his body seize up. His eyes were rolling back in his head. He felt a spark sizzle through his blood that he was absolutely sure was real, their magic mingling and responding to each other’s, not a delusion. He reached out and snagged his fingers around Harry’s wrist, and the sensation grew in intensity. Then he pulled, and Harry was on the couch beside him.

“Draco…” Harry gasped in warning.

Right now, Draco was far more drunk than he could ever be on Elvendraught wine. He leaned over and kissed Harry again, and this time, he was in a position where he could thrust his tongue into Harry’s mouth. The warmth was thicker, wetter, and he eased down onto Harry’s body, holding him flat with a hand on his chest.

It was so good, it was wonderful, it was burning, and the only thing Draco could think of that would be more wonderful was bare skin. He eased his hand under Harry’s robes.

And then Harry caught his wrist, and shook his head, and moved it back, and sat up, and raked his fingers through his hair, trying to make it look less disheveled than it really was, all the while without looking at Draco.

Draco wanted to punch Harry. He closed his eyes and dug his fingers into his palms until they hurt. “Why?” he asked tightly.

“Because we’re on the case.”

Draco opened his eyes and sat back. That wasn’t the same as an eternal _no_. “And after the case?”

“Give me a fortnight.” Harry was staring at the diamond ring on Draco’s finger. Draco turned his hand and made the gem sparkle again. Harry looked sharply aside. “I need to be sure that these feelings are real, not part of the game.”

“I would never _play_ with you like that!”

“But you might be doing it without realizing it. How much of this comes down to the freedom we have to act like lovers in public? And to pretending to be engaged? If there’s any chance that it could be real…”

“You want it to be.”

Harry nodded and met his eyes again. “I want it to be.”

Draco was silent, thinking about it. He had learned some lessons that urged him to seize this moment now, before it passed. _Harry_ might be mistaken about his own feelings. He might feel differently in the morning. Or he might reach the end of his fortnight and decide against it for reasons of nobility and honor.

_Fuck nobility and honor. And I’d get to fuck him._

But in the end, Draco did have to admit it would be better, longer-lasting, if the vision Harry held out was real. He sighed. “All right. I’ll give you a fortnight after the case. But that _is_ all I’ll give you. A concrete answer or nothing.”

“Thank you,” Harry whispered. He stood up and extended a hand. Draco took it, wondering if he should shake it or kiss it or what. But Harry made up his mind for him by giving Draco’s wrist a single, firm wring.

“I know you could have lots of people. Thank you for choosing me.”

Before Draco could respond to either part of that utterly insane declaration, Harry turned and vanished into his bedroom, leaving Draco to find his own way out. Not at all the sort of thing a good host would do, Draco thought, amused, standing up to find the Floo powder. His mother would have turned up her nose at the notion of Harry becoming a Malfoy spouse for that reason alone.

But she didn’t know. Draco would never tell her. And as he did go home alone, he cherished the promise of more that Harry had given him, more than he had ever expected to win.

It was too bad he had only a moment to enjoy that feeling, cut short when the dark figure in his room Stupefied him without a word, and Draco likewise fell.


	2. Chapter 2

When the owl came and hammered on his window, Harry sighed and got out of bed. He had already failed to fall asleep for the last two hours. He might as well get an early start on the day’s business.

The owl wasn’t a Ministry one, though, with the silver ring around its foot that would have identified it. It was a large, nondescript tawny, holding out its leg as though to disassociate itself from the message. Harry frowned as he cast a few spells that would search for curses of the kind personal post often carried, at least if you were Harry Potter.

Nothing. Harry slit the envelope and opened it. The owl immediately took flight through the open window.

_If you want to see your betrothed again, you will come to the Apparition point at Diagon Alley by dawn._

There was no signature except a large, black heart shape, cut in half by the teardrop that split it. Harry had seen it before, on a few ransom demands and sometimes cut into the stone where a pair of lovers under the influence of the potion had been kidnapped.

The signature of the Dark Lover.

*

“…contribute to my collection. I know that you never took any of the special potions I brewed, so you must be a spontaneous example of true love. My last one died, and now you’re going to be the new centerpiece, the opposing image to the loves I create. You ought to feel honored.”

Draco came groggily back to himself; Stunners always did that to him. It was one reason Harry always tried to slide in between Draco and the Stunners. Well, that reason and others, like his stupid nobility.

But after a pair of fingers snapped under his nose and then a bucket of cold water doused him, Draco was pretty bloody wide awake.

He found himself strapped to a chair in the center of a room so showy even his ancestors might have found it in bad taste. It was enormous, gilded, with mirrors strapped to the walls so they flashed back every small drop of light from candles and torches and fires and oil lamps. Down the center marched pillars wreathed with gold leaf in the shape of ivy, holly, roses, lilies, and other plants Draco couldn’t see enough of to identify. And the chair was on a dais, and facing him on another dais, and throne, was the Dark Lover.

Draco knew him immediately, even though he had never seen him before. For one thing, an enormous black mask in the shape of his symbol, a dark heart broken by a teardrop, covered his face.

For another, he was obviously insane.

He leaned forwards and looked at Draco. “Have you been listening to a word I said?”

“I just woke up from a Stunner.” Draco had Auror instincts of his own, maybe not as good as Harry’s, but _no one_ had Auror instincts as good as Harry’s, and he kept his voice polite as he replied. This was one of those criminals, he thought, who would like to be seen as sophisticated, an aristocrat, and talked to as honestly as the situation permitted. “I’m not good with them. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, of course. If I knew you weren’t good with them, I would have told them to collect you some other way.” The Dark Lover waved his hand and leaped off the throne, which Draco saw had a gold lion stalking along the back where his head had rested, and bustled up to Draco. His smile was visible below the mask, and he was a taller man than Draco had thought at first, with wavy brown hair around the edges of the heart. “But you’re awake now. Behold my collection!”

He waved his wand, and the dais with Draco’s chair on it rotated, letting him look around the room. Draco did so with interest. The Dark Lover took wizards and witches who drank his potions, and ransomed back some, and let others go, but none of them had ever been able to tell the Aurors what happened while they were captive.

A second later, Draco thought, _No fucking wonder._

The room had other daises in it, scattered among the pillars, gleaming gold (of course) and platinum. On each platform stood a glittering glass cage, or perhaps one made of enchanted light, and in each one stood a couple arranged with a Stasis Charm.

Directly in front of Draco once the dais had rotated was a red-haired woman swooning over the arm of a black-clad man. Draco recognized them as the latest “lovers”—they hadn’t known each other before—to disappear, Jennifer Gordon and Blaine Yanelma.

On other sides were men rescuing women from illusory dragons, women kissing women, wizards clasping hands across tables lit only by candles, couples cuddling in front of fireplaces, or feeding each other sweets, or gazing into each other’s eyes, or dancing frozen waltzes. Draco could feel the hum of the magic that kept them imprisoned but suspended and undying from here.

“I love to look at them,” said the Dark Lover, and his voice became a bit petulant. “Only as long as their love lasts, of course. All of them come in the end to heartbreak, but they never do it in an _interesting_ way! It’s all silent! I just look at them and _know_ they’re out of love one day, but I can never catch them at it!”

_Of course you can’t, because your potion and your imagination made up all these scenarios in the first place._

But a trainee Auror would have known better than to say _that_. Draco bowed his head. “I assume, since you captured me without my partner, that you think you might have an example of love that doesn’t end?”

“Well, and I want an example of spontaneous love _sometimes_ , you know,” said the Dark Lover, stalking back towards him. Draco had the feeling that he was trying to be impressive. The cloak that hung limply behind him instead of flapping as it should rather ruined the effect. “But more than that, I want to make sure that I have someone frozen in an actually dramatic act of rescuing, instead of having to pose them that way.”

“So when my partner comes to rescue me…?”

“I freeze him as he charges in, of course.” The Dark Lover beamed, or at least his mouth did.

 _And there’s no way to prevent Harry from doing that, not when the Dark Lover must have given him some message that I was in danger._ Draco did his best to relax, to breathe evenly, not shout the way he wanted to. “How long will you keep us here?”

“You’re an example of spontaneous true love. I know you didn’t touch any of my potions—”

“How did you know that?” Draco demanded. They had counted on fooling the Dark Lover with Harry’s sudden proposal, and using that to lure him out of hiding.

“Oh, I know where my potions go, and who distributes them, and it was easy enough to find out from my spy in your department.”

Draco stared, and felt a harsh stirring of anger beneath his breastbone. One of the other Aurors who had been entrusted with the knowledge of their special project had betrayed them, and all of them were Aurors Harry and Draco had known for years.

“You needn’t worry your head over a proper punishment for them,” said the Dark Lover, interrupting Draco’s calculations, and reached out to pat his head. “I intend to keep you _forever_. After your lover comes charging in, then I’ll freeze you staring longingly at him. Your little traitor will never have that perfection. He’ll probably die of envy.”

The pronoun narrowed it down, but only by one person. Draco didn’t have time to open his mouth and try to convince the Dark Lover to spill more information before he warbled, “Showtime!” and turned around with his wand lifted, as the light darkened in front of them and Harry came charging in.

Draco shouted a warning he knew would go unheard in the wake of the Dark Lover’s spellcasting, and threw himself against the bonds on his chair as hard as he could. He might go down uselessly, but he was at least going _down_ , not sitting there.

_I love him. I can’t let this happen._

*

The man waiting at the Apparition point in Diagon Alley had a mask so thick over his face that Harry was surprised he could breathe. The mask had little hearts and teardrops all along the sides, and completely covered his hair and his mouth and everything but his chin. Still, Harry narrowed his eyes, thinking there was something familiar about him.

“You’re here for the Portkey,” said the voice, echoing and maybe distorted by the mask, but also with something familiar about it. Harry set his instincts to try and figure it out in the back of his mind while he responded.

“What proof do I have that you actually have Draco?”

In answer, the man held up a thick, shining piece of blond hair. Harry wanted to hiss as he recognized it. Draco was probably going to be _pissed_ when he found out it was cut. This was too small to come from his comb or something similar.

“And this,” the man added, and held out a photograph taken with a wizarding camera. There was Draco slumped in a chair on a platform, and lit by a single shaft of glittering light. Harry crowded close to the picture to figure out that he still breathed.

“And where does the Portkey take me?” Harry asked, glaring at the hank of dirty rope held out to him.

“For you to find out, and me to know, Potter.”

Harry jerked his head up, because there _was_ one person in the Auror Department who said shit like that all the time, reversing common phrases, and Harry wasn’t going to let it just pass, not this time. He shot out his hand and grabbed hold of the man’s robes, spinning him around. He choked, obviously not expecting that, and Harry tore the mask from his face.

“Auror Robinson,” he said. The man was one of those who had mocked their engagement in the Department this morning.

The man stared at him, panting. He acted dazed, as though he had thought Harry would never pull his mask off, or do anything but go along obediently with the Dark Lover’s instructions. Harry wanted to sneer. How could the man have been part of the same Department as him for this length of time and never _noticed_ the way Harry operated?

“You have to—you have to go and do what he says,” Robinson panted.

Harry smiled, and leaned closer. He smelled heavy cinnamon on the man’s breath, and nodded a little. It was a prime ingredient in some mind control potions. It made sense that the Dark Lover would rely on potions to do more than collect the victims he preferred.

“I think you _have_ to tell me what he’s planning on doing to me when I get there,” he said softly, digging his wand into the vulnerable base of Robinson’s throat, between the edges of his collarbone. “Now.”

Robinson abruptly tried to snatch his wand and Apparate out, but Harry had already taken the wand away, and slid it safely into a pocket. Robinson snarled at him, and the scent of cinnamon surrounded then more and more heavily.

"You have to do what you're told!"

"No," said Harry, and dug his wand in so forcefully that Robinson reared back and snarled breathlessly. Normally, Harry would have felt bad about that, but not when Robinson was _asking_ for it. "Tell me what the Dark Lover is planning on doing to me."

Robinson still stood there and looked confused. Harry shrugged. It was probably the effect of the potion. And he was filled with a rage so heavy it looked like calm, and pushed against the pounding, frantic fear for Draco's life.

"If you want to play it that way," he said, and aimed his wand lower, so it was pointed at Robinson's chest instead of his throat. "Do you want to know what happens when the Cruciatus Curse gets cast on someone's ribs? _Directly_?"

"You wouldn't--you're an Auror!"

"And so are you, you _piece of shit_ ," Harry said, and probably startled Robinson the more because he roared the words while keeping his smile in place. "I'm going to do it, Robinson, unless you tell me."

"You wouldn't torture me."

" _Cruc_ \--"

"Okay, okay!" Robinson cowered some more and babbled. "The Dark Lover collects people. He poses them in some scenario he finds romantic. Then he lets them go when he gets bored or feels their love has died, or sometimes when the ransom is paid. He likes examples of true love, though. He thinks you and Malfoy have it." Even through the fear and the confusion of whatever potion the Dark Lover had fed him, Robinson managed a sneer at Harry that said he doubted it. "He's going to pose you _forever_."

"And hit me with the Stasis Charm or whatever it is the minute I take the Portkey in," Harry summarized.

Robinson bobbed his head. "That's all I know about. That's all I know about what the Dark Lover is going to do. You have to believe--"

" _Stupefy,"_ Harry said, and watched Robinson collapse at his feet. Then he bound him with ropes and stuck a note on his robes explaining what had happened to make Robinson betray the Aurors, and what he thought was probably in the potion the Dark Lover had given him. When he cast the final spell, the one the Aurors had developed that would Apparate someone unconscious to the Ministry, he wished he could have been more vicious.

But Draco wouldn't be saved by his stopping for vengeance. Harry gave in to his fear and grasped the Portkey he'd made sure not to touch as it fell from Robinson's limp hand.

The minute he stepped out of the swirling colors into the darkness, he heard Draco scream. Harry knifed to the side, and felt something, probably the Dark Lover's Stasis Charm, storm past him. He rolled across the floor and felt his instincts rise like walls around him, protecting him from the Stunner that followed, and yet another charm, and a spell that looked like blue fire with black edges.

"Harry! _Harry_!"

 _At least that means he's still alive,_ Harry thought, and he bolted back to his feet. The Dark Lover, with an immense, stupid mask, loomed in front of him and said something. Harry didn't bother listening to it, or getting distracted by the sight of the posed lovers around him. What he did was shoot a leaping Stunner of his own.

It reflected from the Dark Lover’s mask, and he laughed, a grim sound that Harry _hoped_ was partially distorted from the mask. “You dare to cross wands with me?” he asked, and drew his wand across his waist and bowed. “Then come, and let us duel! True love against love’s end!”

Harry hoped that the Dark Lover’s dueling style would be as silly as his pronouncements, but it seemed not. He kept using Dark Arts spells and laughing as if this was the finest fun in the world. Harry ducked and leaped, and still he managed to lead the Dark Lover away from Draco, but not to actually disarm him.

_Maybe I shouldn’t be thinking in terms of disarming him. Maybe I should think in terms of ways to use his weapons against him._

The next time that they circled past one of the displays on a dais in a frozen fall of light, Harry turned and cast as strong a _Finite_ as he could muster at it. The Dark Lover shrieked as the two men inside staggered and nearly fell out of their chairs. Harry had chosen one where they were sitting on purpose, so they wouldn’t be hurt by the sudden ending of the spell.

“You _cannot_!”

“You haven’t captured true love, or even love that fades,” Harry said, following his instincts, not sure where the words were coming from, but knowing they were the right ones. “You’ve only made up a scenario in your own head and then insisted on trying to make it come true. All of these people are your puppets, your manipulations, your—”

The Dark Lover screamed at him and whipped back around. He was still fighting impressively, using spells that Harry could barely counter, and surging forwards when Harry fell back.

But he was no longer fighting defensively. And Harry, a defensive expert, saw the small gaps in his wandwork, and surged forwards himself.

The Dark Lover tilted onto his heels without ever realizing what had happened, from his expression. He screamed again, but this time _that_ was less impressive. Harry turned a complete circle and cast a Stunner at one of the walls at an angle from the Dark Lover.

It bounced from the mirror there, and stormed back, and caught the Dark Lover when he was turning because he thought Harry was threatening another one of his exhibits. He slumped over immediately, his head dangling.

Harry crouched down, with his hands on his knees, and panted into the silence. The confused murmurs of the two men who had woken up when Harry shattered the light that held them were the only sound for long moments.

“You _could_ have freed me, and then I _could_ have helped you.”

Harry smiled as he stood up and turned back to Draco. “Always with the dramatics,” he teased, as he waved his wand and the ropes binding Draco fell away, severed. “Yes, I could have done a lot of things. This is what I did.”

Draco gave him such a look that Harry staggered. And there wasn’t anger in that look. There was desire as thick and scarlet as velvet, and gratitude and relief that Harry knew he would treasure more later.

For now, he went up and took his time unbinding the ropes around Draco’s legs, even though they were cut through. He ignored the questions of the men on the other platform, and the amount of work waiting for him. He knew he would have to rescue the other people the Dark Lover had “collected,” and then summon the other Aurors and explain Robinson’s treachery to them, as well as the unexpected ending of the case.

He and Draco didn’t have to pretend to be married anymore. Harry felt Draco tense when his fingers brushed the finger that Draco had the diamond ring on.

But Harry only lowered his face to kiss that finger, and said nothing else about it.

*

Draco watched, standing well back in the meeting room, as Harry explained what had happened to the Minister and the other Aurors. He was good at it, describing the battle with the Dark Lover economically and yet vividly. Draco would have been hard put to it to use words the same way.

Of course, _words_ weren’t what he wanted to use right now. There was something low and dark red in his stomach that had been there since Harry kissed his finger.

But he had to wait until the report was done, and that took several hours. Then he had to give his perspective as a victim of the Dark Lover, and he had to listen as the Aurors unmasked the man and gave his identity. He was a Potions master Draco had never heard of before. Unsurprising. Draco no longer kept up with Potions and the newest inventions in that field the way he once had.

Harry turned and smiled at him sweetly, then, as if to say that they would be out of here soon since they had the Dark Lover’s identity secure.

 _I have better things to keep up with,_ Draco thought, and stared back until Harry flushed and had to look away to respond to a question from Dawlish.

*

“Remarkable, Auror Potter. Truly remarkable. Our plot didn’t work the way we expected, but you uncovered both the Dark Lover and a traitor in the Aurors.”

Harry gave a tight smile at Dawlish, one of the Aurors who had doubted the scheme of him and Draco going undercover as an engaged couple would work. “Given what we know about the Dark Lover’s potions distribution network, it was folly to suppose it would work out that way. We thought he was relying on other people to distribute the potions. We didn’t know he made them himself.”

“I’m _aware_ of that, Potter.”

“Now,” Harry couldn’t help muttering.

Kingsley literally stepped into the fray, his hands out, as though he though Harry and Dawlish would lunge at each other across the interrogation room. “Everything worked out, and I’m glad that both you and Auror Malfoy escaped without injury, Auror Potter,” he said soothingly. “Why don’t you and Auror Malfoy go home and rest?”

“Whose home?” someone asked, not under their breath.

Kingsley turned to administer some discipline Harry thought was sorely needed. The Aurors who had been here from the beginning had known about the plot. They couldn’t think it was a good and a bad idea for Harry and Draco to get that close, simultaneously.

Harry sighed as he turned and offered Draco his hand. Well, maybe they could. People believed all sorts of stupid things.

Draco took his hand and rose to his feet with a feral grace that Harry couldn’t help admiring. His eyes were fastened on Harry’s, and the expression of hunger there was one that Harry thought only he saw.

Then again, he would be _happy_ if he was the only one who saw it.

*

Draco was amazed at his own restraint. They had walked from the interrogation room, to their offices to drop off a few of the files they’d been handed, to the Floos in the Atrium, and then through the Floo to Harry’s flat. They had done all that without Draco shoving Harry into the nearest wall and doing his best to snog him breathless and senseless.

 _But then_ , Draco thought, as he turned around and saw Harry reaching for him with hands that looked as though they were made of iron, _I am an amazing person._

Harry was the one who snogged Draco senseless, one hand lodged in his hair as though he was counting the strands with his fingers. Draco shivered and drew back, wanting more than anything to head through the doorway to the bedroom, but needing to know something.

“What happened about needing to wait a fortnight?”

Harry stared at him with dark, devouring eyes. “Fancy you remembering that.”

“I do. I always remember obstacles that stand in the way of what I want.”

Harry shivered sharply at the sound of the last word, and then leaned forwards and began to nip at Draco’s chin. “I think,” he said, in between the little bites that made it so hard for Draco to concentrate, “that we can skip the fortnight.”

And Draco felt as though someone had taken iron bars off his chest, and he reached with relentless hands for Harry, who opened his mouth and made a soft, reflective, singing moan before they collapsed into each other.

They did get into the bedroom, and into the middle of Harry’s enormous, canopied, four-postered bed, exactly like the one he’d had at Hogwarts, except bigger. Draco teased him about it all the time, and the Gryffindor colors in the room, and the Chudley Cannons poster on the wall.

But, for now, all Draco cared about was that the bed was comfortable, and had plenty of things he could grab onto while Harry first stripped him of his clothes and then bent down to suck on various places on his skin.

Draco tilted his head back and closed his eyes, picturing the world whirling around him, and Harry sucking on him like that for the rest of time, for him to always have Harry’s lips fastened to him, for Harry to be preoccupied with him and only him—

He had to stop thinking that before he came.

And when he opened his eyes, he had better things to think about, anyway. Again. Harry was pulling off his robes, and beneath them, he wore only pants that made Draco’s cock stir from half-hardness to full hardness. He scrambled up and reached out to touch.

He traced his fingers lightly along the full length of Harry’s erection, and sighed when he reached the tip. There was dampness there. It was the answer to a wordless question, the question being how much Harry wanted him. Draco sat back on his heels and looked up.

Harry was breathing slowly, his eyes closed. Draco rejoiced in the sight of his chest, and the slightly guilty pleasure in knowing that he’d made Harry stand still while he touched him and _touched_ him, and Harry had had to fight for self-control.

“You can do it now,” Draco said softly.

Harry somehow managed to yank down his pants with one hand and Summon lube with the other, even though Draco hadn’t even seen the wand in his hand. Then again, he’d been distracted by the _other_ wand in the picture, he thought with a faint smirk as Harry bore him back into the pillows and started kissing him again.

He would have to keep that pun to himself. Harry _might_ break off getting Draco ready to hit him, and Draco had no desire to delay what he wanted any longer.

Harry coated his fingers with lube and spent forever rubbing them softly and up down _outside_ where Draco wanted them to go, which finally made Draco give a muffled, impatient howl and open his legs. Then Harry chuckled and slid the tip of his thumb slowly inside. Draco writhed.

“Sure you want it?” Harry breathed, and added more lube, and then slid two fingers fully inside before Draco could respond.

Draco wheezed through the sudden jolt, and then nodded determinedly and would have moved downwards, except Harry’s sheets caught his heels and wouldn’t let him do it. But at least Harry got the point, and from there, the moments disappeared into mad flickers of warmth, and strength, and Harry lubing himself up, and adding even more fingers, and finally believing Draco when he said he was as prepared as he was going to get.

And when Harry slid inside, it was bliss worth the wait.

Draco let himself melt into the warmth of feeling perfectly safe as Harry fucked him, softly at first, then fast enough to make the bed shake. Harry had come for him when Draco was held captive by the Dark Lover. Harry protected his back in battle. Harry had stood up for him in Pan’s when that man had abused him all those months ago for being a former Death Eater.

Draco didn’t need to do anything right now but relax and enjoy.

And if he kept his opening his eyes to look up at Harry’s, and run a hand down his face when he could, and trace the lines of his sweat—

If he murmured words that not even torture could have forced from him if they were for anyone but Harry—

If his orgasm caught him by surprise and swept him away in a tumbling flood that meant he never felt when Harry came—

That was all right.

They would have plenty of other times.

*

“I wanted to give you this.”

Harry didn’t know what time it was, except that it was far too early. He groaned a little and opened his eyes. “Draco?” he muttered, not caring if he sounded grumpy. “What are you doing out of bed already?” _Didn’t I satisfy you better than that?_

“Fetching _your_ ring.”

Harry sat up and nearly fell out of bed. He hadn’t realized how near the side he was, or that Draco was kneeling on the floor next to him, in the same position Harry had taken in the middle of the Auror Department, holding up a box that was open to reveal a ring.

Except that the emotions in his eyes didn’t include impatience and dread and the other things _Harry_ had been feeling when he did that.

Harry swallowed and looked at the ring to keep from having to speak. It was a plain gold band, simpler than the one that adorned Draco’s finger. But the gem in it was different—smaller than the diamond, and glowing as deep a red as the heart of blood on fire.

A ruby.

Harry shivered. He didn’t care if it was smaller than the diamond. He knew rubies were even more valuable than diamonds, and it wouldn’t surprise him if Draco had spent exactly as much on this ring as Harry had on his. And without Auror Department compensation, at that.

“Draco,” he whispered.

“I bought this for you because I thought the gem symbolized you,” Draco said. His voice was as rough as the prickle of tears against Harry’s eyelashes. “But more than that—I bought it, and then I realized nothing I could give you would symbolize what you mean to me.” He tilted his head, and Harry got a glimpse of those eyes that made him shiver. “I value you more than rubies, Harry. More than anything I can imagine.”

Harry slid to his knees, nerveless. He had never thought Draco would make a gesture like this. He had feared, in the back of his mind, that he would be the one making all the gestures, and Draco demanding a diamond engagement ring and a proposal in the middle of the Auror Department that Harry would have to back out of when the case was over had solidified that fear. He might want Draco, but he could never live up to his standards.

Now, he believed Draco when he said that Harry was the one who set his standards.

Trying to speak now would be a mistake, and Harry didn’t know the right words anyway. He extended his hand instead, and Draco slid the ruby ring onto the proper finger.

Then he turned his hand, and the diamond flashed in the sunlight, and the ruby answered it with the softest, deepest of glows, and Harry cupped Draco’s face and answered him with the softest, deepest of kisses.

**The End.**


End file.
